She was settling.
It wasn’t easy, but she’d learned that such massive upheavals never were; at least, she thought, the trade-off had come with considerably less bloodshed than the one before. Of course, a change in power always brought snakes out of the sand, and the recovering nobility posed more of a threat to the Court’s relative stability than she wanted to admit, but Seraphina had grown up with one foot in the swirling, violent world of Solterran politics and the other in war-torn foreign lands. She was cautious, but she was not fearful – her eyes were trained on the horizon, on what small leaps of progress she might be able to make with this newfound power. Her entire life had been a matter of mindlessly following orders. She had never been able to wish for more, and now…now she had a chance to change things, to undo what horrors had been done to her and to so many others – or to move past them, perhaps, because what damage was done could never be undone. She had never taken herself for an idealist, and it was likely too kind to call it genuine idealism. Everywhere she looked, she was reminded of problems that had permeated her court for so long, for too long, and she knew that they had to be fixed. Because it was right. Because it was necessary.
She’d heard whispers of something strange occurring far out in the Mors today, so she had sent scouts to investigate; the timing was far from ideal, considering that they were to welcome the Queen of Terrastella and her Emissary into Solterra in a matter of hours. The scouts hadn’t returned, and, with each passing moment, she felt her unease grow. They should have returned by now.
With nothing to do but wait and mull, she paced the throne room, white tail lashing behind her. This was her first real diplomatic venture since her ascension, and, with the threat of Denocte and the image of Bexley Briar engraved in the back of her mind like some dark cloud, she desperately needed it to go smoothly – rumor told her that Terrastella had been similarly burned by the kingdom of night, and, in that, she wondered if she could find the basis for a strong alliance. They needed resources, healers, anything; the desert buckled beneath the weight of an entire kingdom, and they could not support themselves on dry grasses and an already-strained oasis forever. Eik, she knew, was buried in work last she checked, and Avdotya had disappeared before she’d been given the chance to ask her to attend the meeting. (She’d been absent more often than usual, lately; when she thought of her right hand, she felt a prickle of suspicion. Something was wrong.) Of course, she doubted that much work would be done on the first day of their visit, so she was comfortable enough to approach the foreign sovereign and her emissary on her own, even if she did feel somewhat poorly equipped to handle Terrastella’s honey-kissed flower queen and her emissary, who was, by all accounts, as whimsical and sensitive as the queen herself.
The massive iron doors at the far side of the great hall creaked open, and a young courtier scrambled inside, clearly nervous. “My lady,” He greeted, with a swift bow. “Queen Florentine and Lady Cyrene have arrived.” She nodded her acknowledgement.
“Please, bring them in.”
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
Cyrene Remember this when you are king;
I moved the earth and the water for you.
—
Relief welled within Cyrene's amber eyes as Dusk’s procession marched through the sun-soaked streets of Solterra. Days and nights of endless travel, and she was about to drop upon the nearest flat surface and sleep for a lifetime.
But they were close now. Just an hour ago, a troupe of mail-clad guards had awaited them like statues as they’d emerged, parched and exhausted, from the dunes of the Mors. No doubt sent by Seraphina, the newly crowned queen, to escort the travel-worn Terrastellans to the castle. Aside from the few words of thanks exchanged when they were handed skins full of sweet, sweet water, a suffocating silence had blanketed the group ever since as the stiff Solterran guards kept their replies to nods and single syllables.
Not that it had kept Cyrene from trying. She had pitched question after question to the disgruntled guard at her left as they walked, eliciting the chuckles of Florentine’s own soldiers. Yet to the young Emissary’s immense disappointment, the Solterran warrior had remained stubbornly silent as a thin smile stretched ever tighter across his lips. Eventually, she had left him alone with a sullen pout.
Even Florentine is too far ahead for me to talk to. Sighing, the girl settled for gazing solemnly at the shimmering horizon beyond. An expanse of white marble rippled upon golden sand like a mirage, its shifting form as hazy as a dream. It disoriented her, how everything seemed to shimmer with an unearthly quality. From the heat, from her thirst. The desert was a smoking dragon with Solterra as its beating heart, thought Cyrene, as she brushed the sand from her stinging eyes.
Yet what bothered her the most, were the hooded eyes that trailed them like shadows as they passed. It had been too long since Terrastellans had walked alongside Solis’ children, too long since an effort at diplomacy had been attempted. Dusk and Day had never been completely amicable, Cyrene knew – but she also suspected that amicable was a word the hot-blooded Solterrans knew little of.
A cool rush of air kissed her scorched skin like a blessing as the guards led them under a dome of sparkling ivory. The very same ivory as the castle – for at last, they'd arrived.She gazed wide-eyed at a courtyard of green grass (she tried to linger there, until the very same guard fixed a pointed glare at her dawdling), a fountain of crystalline blue. The citadel was far more opulent than she'd expected, perhaps more than Terrastella’s own ivy-strewn towers.
Somewhere, the procession had separated into two. Cyrene had been too absorbed in examining the finery that coated each room from floor to ceiling to notice. Now, only two of their own soldiers remained alongside Florentine and her. And instead of foot soldiers, men in much finer armor marched besides them, emblems of their respective houses emblazoned upon their gilded chests.
Deeper and deeper into the opulent halls they were ushered, until – a flash of silver hair – they were greeted by none other than the pale-eyed Sovereign herself.
“Queen Seraphina,” Cyrene murmured, dropping into a bow she had practiced for three sleepless nights. “A pleasure to meet you.” As she greeted the equally young Sovereign with a soft smile, eyes of tawny amber glanced towards Florentine’s golden curls as she stepped nimbly to the side.
Their procession wove on through the teaming, sun-drenched streets. It was a far more elaborate parade than the flower girl would have ever wanted.
They asked to shroud her in cloth to protect her from the sun and sand.
She refused.
They asked her to fly and protect herself from the dirt of travel.
Florentine refused that too.
So it is that the Terrastellan queen arrives in disarray. Her skin is as sweat-slicked as her crimson hued emissary. Her hair is a tangle of sand dusted flowers and golden thread. It clings to her neck and the slender slope of her shoulders. Each slender limb throbs with every step, her body aching in the heat of this unrelenting kingdom.
But still the fae-girl walked on. Even tired, even aching, Florentine is, in every part of her, elven. She is grace and light, slender elegance than not even the sun can bring low.
Their procession stops beside a fountain, its waters cool from the spring deep, deep below. Within those crystal waters, glittering beneath a sun so proud, Flora bathes the dust and dirt of travel from her gilded skin.
She descended to the waters a travel urchin and rises a queen gilded and forged from azure waters. Liquid sloughs from her skin and falls like diamonds to shatter the mirror water about her knees.
Cyrene’s voice reaches Flora, persistent and demanding. Her lips tip into a smile, oh her voracious emissary! Their spirits were kin, of that the fae queen was sure. They were both wild and untameable, but fierce and keen.
Slowly their parade begins again and the sun is a drum upon their backs. It pulls the cool water from her caramel skin the flower girl is dry by the time she passes beneath an archway of glittering white marble. It is torch bright, even here in this land of plenty and nothingness. Solterra’s bounty, Florentine knows, is not in its land, but its people.
The guards, as silver and fierce as their queen, lead them into the waiting citadel and as they walk, Florentine things of how she could be just another statue of gold here, so lavish as it is. In silence Cyrene appears at her side. The girl is a ruby for the gold of Florentine’s skin. The queen’s lips tip into a smile, and reach out to smooth across the girl’s shoulder. Her skin, hot from the sun, makes Florentine’s lips burn. “I am sorry the trip is so ghastly and boring. Maybe we can ply the guards with wine to make them merry as we leave. They might then let us partake of another bath?” Flora whispers, her eyes drifting to the guard Cyrene has tried to woo. “If he does not succumb to your charm, then he is not worth it.” It is effort not to look for a gleam of silver and gold. Florentine knows what Davke soldier has captured her emissary’s attention, yet the boy’s scathing remarks at her first visit were not easy to forget. A word in his ear might ease her worries for Cyrene, so the Dusk girl does not cease her watch for him.
But soon lavish doors are being swept open and the girls ushered in to where Seraphina paces, a silver queen upon her dais. Florentine knows that quicksilver skin, knows those eyes of liquid metal. They were similar, she and Seraphina. There were both young, both once emissaries soon to be crowned queens. They had plans for a festival that never came to be.
Now, here they are, gold and silver brought together in such different circumstances.
“Queen Seraphina.” Flora begins softly, dipping into an elegant curtsey that sends petals drifting to the floor. They had not wilted on the walk over and for a moment Florentine wonders if they might ever wilt at all.
Like the sun, Flora rises, her amethyst eyes glittering like gems as they find the Solterran queen. “Congratulations on succeeding to the throne. I am sorry I had not come sooner to pay my respects and offer my well wishes.”
Golden eyelashes lower to fan her cheek, her thoughts filled with a boy broken and dying, her own heart ruined and her soul fretful for the secrets it keeps. Florentine takes a breath, “I come on important business, but first I must ask, Seraphina, are you well?” It is the soft question of a girl made to ascend a throne so unexpectedly. It is full of knowing and experience. It has her wondering - had Seraphina taken to ruling more easily than she? To rule is to bite from a bitter apple and bear a crown so heavy. To be a queen was both a blessing and a curse, so the fae-girl’s smile, after her question, is warm and welcoming. “I hope my healers were able to offer some assistance to your compatriots after the Teryr attack. You have my condolences for all who were involved.”
Slowly her gaze shifts to Cyrene, a smile curling across her lips. “May I introduce Cyrene, my new emissary.” With a wing the Dusk girl beckons her Dusk-sister closer and before her. “This is her first official visit, I hope we shall not make it too traumatic for her.” Oh what it would be if this girl’s playful smile could be more bright and not so haunted with betrayal and sorrow.
@Seraphina and @Cyrene - better late than never! Let's get the fun ball rolling! <3
There was something different about this honey-kissed wildflower queen, now, something darker – she didn’t know what it was, yet, but it clung to her pretty smiles and gemstone eyes, a flicker of foreign nightshade, bitter and poisonous. (Perhaps she was just imagining it, but rumors would suggest otherwise, and she couldn’t imagine that she and her Emissary would come to Solterra without reason.) As she and her emissary enter the throne room, escorted by a group of guards in familiar armor, her jaw drew into a firm line; the houses would insist on getting involved in the proceedings, wouldn’t they? She’d thought that someone had interfered with the patrol schedule. Nevermind that, though – if they wanted a show, she would give it to them.
She wouldn’t falter.
Florentine offered her greetings. “Queen Florentine,” The silver responded, crisp and clear as the ringing of a bell; the flower-girl’s curtsey was met with a graceful bow. Dark ears twitched forward to catch her words as she offered a few initial pleasantries – or, well, she assumed that they were pleasantries. For her time spent as an Emissary, Seraphina remained woefully unaccustomed to diplomatic proceedings. “Congratulations to you, as well.” She hadn’t had the chance to offer her a proper congratulations on her ascension, either; it had happened around the same time. At her question, genuinely concerned, she tilted her head, slightly thoughtful. “I…think that I am adjusting.” She skirted the line of uncertainty and honesty; Seraphina would never admit to vulnerability (though largely out of necessity, rather than pride), but she didn’t want to claim too much stability in a land like Solterra.“It has all been…unexpected, and sudden, but the ground seems to be evening out beneath me. Your healers were a great help, after Maxence’s passing.” She didn’t like to think about that, though; sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could still see the Teryr, great wings blocking out the sun. (She knew, deep down, that there was nothing she could have done for Maxence. Somehow, she still felt responsible.)
She kept her gaze trained on Florentine, though, and turned her question back on her. “And what of you? Are you well?” Somehow, she didn’t think so. Something was wrong - but she didn’t know what it was, and she was not sure that she would understand it, even if she did. She barely knew Florentine, but she did know that they were two very different kinds of girl ruling two very different kinds of kingdoms. Solterra was full of snakes; she could never let her guard down completely, lest she find herself bitten. Florentine…Dusk had always seemed softer, more peaceful. She didn’t underestimate them, exactly, but she knew that they needn’t cultivate such a guarded exterior. Florentine was open. Florentine felt. Seraphina barely remembered what that meant, much as she tried to. “I regret that I was unable to attend your Winter Festival – unfortunately, the time surrounding Maxence’s passing was…a whirlwind. It seems that we have both had a great deal to attend to,” She added, as something of an afterthought; she didn’t want her to think her absence an offense. Avdotya had attended, or so she had heard, and she had hoped that was enough. It wasn’t as though Seraphina was comfortable in parties, anyways. She was sure that she would be expected to host one in Solterra eventually, – perhaps a summer sun festival – but she had every intention of being as uninvolved as possible with the proceedings.
Florentine introduced her Emissary, then, and her mismatched gaze turned on the pegasus. “Of course.” She dipped her head to the rose-red Emissary, regarding her thoughtfully. She still remembered her days as an Emissary, and the inevitable nerves that came with her earliest diplomatic endeavors. “It is a pleasure, Cyrene. Neither of you need to be so formal; Seraphina is fine.” For her stiff composure, the silver queen disliked the proceedings of court, and the crown still sat uncomfortably on her brow. She could see some of the guards exchanging unhappy glances, but she ignored them.
She didn’t ask what the purpose of their visit was – not yet. There would be time enough for that after they had gotten the necessary formalities out of the way.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
Cyrene Remember this when you are king;
I moved the earth and the water for you.
—
“If he does not succumb to your charm, then he is not worth it.”
A shimmering smile touched upon Cyrene’s lips like dew as Florentine’s whispered tones reached her ears. She felt her queen’s gentle touch ghost over her skin like silk, drops of water dripping from her golden maw to glide softly along Cyrene’s crimson hide. With a sly glance towards the grim-faced soldier, the young emissary chuckled as she shot a rueful smirk towards the elven Florentine.
“Solterran men are as stubborn as they come,” she sighed dramatically, amber eyes flickering with amusement. Though, hidden amongst the lines of her smile was an edge of truth; for the soldier was not the first Solterran to withstand Cyrene’s unwavering efforts at conversation. The first one — he had softened. She was sure of it.
Yet each day, her confidence weathered like a stone against the tide.
With a firm shake of her head, the girl swept all thoughts of golden eyes and satin lips from her mind. She was not here for him. She was here for Terrastella as her newest emissary, and it was time to don the title as gracefully as Florentine wore hers.
—
As the two queens began to speak, Cyrene did her best to follow along. The names and events that hinted at a shared history between them, however brief, were reduced to a diluge of syllables that Cyrene pieced together as quickly as she could.
Maxence — the previous sovereign of Solterra, and according to Florentine (who had weathered her amber-eyed emissary’s barrage of questions most patiently) had been carried off by a monstrous creature called a Teryr. His bones had been found in the desert, pale and glinting amidst the sands. In the wake of such tragedy, the silver-haired emissary, Seraphina, had taken the throne.
Though, from the way the young queen spoke of the matter… it didn’t seem as if she’d had much say.
Avdotya — the Regent, yet apart from her occupation Cyrene knew little else. And she was not here to greet them either. The internal conflicts amongst the Day Court were not just rumors, then, if the relationship between the sovereign and her regent was so… lacking.
Amber eyes wandered to rest upon the noble countenance of Seraphina, skimming down to focus curiously on the silver band that wrapped tightly around her neck. The bloody history of the Day Court was not something that was easy to know of for anyone outside of its own walls; the atrocities of Viceroy, of Zolin, of the corrupt nobility — Cyrene was still painfully ignorant of just how much the citizens of Solterra had suffered.
“It is a pleasure, Cyrene. Neither of you need to be so formal; Seraphina is fine.”
“What a relief, then. I confess that I am not very suited to formalities anyways,” she replied with a light smile. Though, your guards do not look too happy at that, she thought, with a guarded glance towards the row of sentinels lined against the door.
It did not take much for Cyrene to see that Seraphina navigated alone through a court of treachery. Her admiration of the silver queen grew by the minute.
At Florentine’s teasing introduction, the emissary turned to laugh softly with a toss of auburn curls. “Ah, Flora, I assure you that I am not one to be easily traumatized," she said, with a brush of crimson shoulder against gold. "And in the presence of such noble queens, there can be little, if any, trouble that shall ensue,” she concluded with a nod, firm and knowing.
It was her attempt at assuring Seraphina that they had not come to add yet more antagonism to her already overflowing plate.
